The Plight of the Fallen
by Zanathefallen
Summary: Imagine that Zuko and Azula had another sibling they didn't even know. A sister so weak that she was hidden away from the world out of shame. But what if somewhere inside her was a strength so great not even the Avatar could stand against it?
1. Chapter 1

Alright, so this is my first crack at fanfics, so don't be surprised if I botch the characters. I don't really expect this to be anything better than mediocre, but if you're willing to rate and review, I'd _really_ appreciate it.

And, just in case you had any doubt, I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender. If I did, I wouldn't very well be writing this. The only things that belong to me are the plot and Zana, at this point.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prologue

To the few people she was permitted to see, Zana was a weak, helpless thing. Her thin, spindly legs trembled pathetically whenever she stood, and she could not walk more than a few paces without assistance. She had been born fragile, and it was obvious from a young age that she would not be able to bend the way her twin brother would. There was no spark of fire in her cream-colored eyes, no hope for control in her delicate frame.

Ashamed of such a weak daughter, her father had had her hidden away once her uselessness had become obvious. Her brother didn't know she existed, nor did her younger sister, once she was born. Her mother thought she had died, and her father kept her existence secret to everyone. Everyone but his father and brother.

Zana's father and grandfather did enough to keep her alive from year to year, but they offered her no kindness, no companionship. These she got from her uncle, who visited her when he wasn't away fighting in the war, or spending time with his own son. He taught her to play pai-sho ((Sorry if I botched the spelling!)) and told her tales of the family she would never meet. They sang together and he would dance about, holding her small, young frame in his arms, her colorless hair flowing lazily behind them.

It was during their times together over the years that he noticed something in her, something that everyone else had overlooked. A faint, dim ember, struggling desperately to stay hot, groping for the fuel it needed to burn. But it seemed to grow stronger each month, if only slightly. He doubted she would ever progress past basic fire bending, but she would be able to walk on her own, given enough time, and little bending was better than none.

Though the decision was a difficult one, Zana's uncle chose to let her discover her increasing strength on her own, guiding her along the way. But the war called him away to Bah-Sing-Se, and with him the only thing that made her lonely life bearable. Never before had he been gone for so long, and though he wrote, she missed their songs.

The ache of his absence was lessened when she receive a gift with one of his letters. A stone flute, painstakingly crafted through the most delicate of earth bending, that produced an eerily beautiful and resonant sound. Zana cried the first time she played it, the notes of her uncle's favorite song reverberating through her room.

When at last he did return, he was different. He wouldn't talk about his son anymore, and had cried when she asked why he wouldn't. Zana had trembled at the sight of it. She'd never known of anyone but herself shedding tears, and believed that it was only because she was ill. Fearing that she had broken him, Zana threw her arms around him and sobbed as well. "Please stop," she cried. "I won't ask again. Just don't cry. I don't want you to get locked away, too."

He smiled at her warmly through his tears, stroking her cheek. She returned the smile, tentatively, before pulling away despite her uncle's baffled expression. Wordlessly, she took out the flute that she kept on her person at all times and began to play, softly and sweetly. He sang along with until both of their tears were forgotten. When the time came for him to leave, it was with a smile on his face, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness.

From that day forward, she played for him, and no matter the earlier events of the day, he always left with that same smile, sad and yet happy. Until the time that he left with a grim expression. It couldn't quite be called loss, but it could be called anything else even less. Zana was left in the room, confused and heartbroken tears streaming down her face.

He was leaving with her brother. She didn't understand why, or know the details, all she recognized was that her uncle was going to be gone, and he wouldn't be coming back. Not until an impossible task had been completed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

So...yeah. That's that. Rate and review, if you would be so kind.

And yes, I will be getting to the actual Avatar characters. Just...not quite yet. Chapter one, though.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Katara and Sokka were arguing about something. Toph didn't know what it was about, and she didn't much care. She was too busy listening to pay attention to their petty filial squabbles. Her eyes closed as she focused on the faint, haunting melody that drifted over the crowds of the Earth Kingdom city streets.

She sidestepped easily as she felt Sokka begin to fall, sprawling out on the ground where she had been standing a moment before.

"No fair!" Sokka shouted, shaking his fist at his sister, "No water bending during arguments!"

"Oh, just shut up, would you?" Katara snapped as she returned the water to the small pouch she held it in.

"Guys, calm down. Please!" Aang jumped defensively between the two siblings, glancing cautiously from one to the other.

Toph's brow twitched. They were being too loud; she couldn't hear the music anymore. "Be _quiet_, already. All of you!" she growled out, rounding on the trio with a frightening glare. "I'm trying to _listen_!"

Their mouths snapped shut, and Sokka leapt back to his feet. "What-" Aang began to speak before Toph snapped a finger up to silence him.

"Just listen."

They strained their ears, trying to discern what had caused their blind companion's actions.

"I don't hear anything, Toph," Katara said apologetically after she felt enough time had passed.

"That's 'cause there's nothing to hear anymore," Toph replied tersely. "It stopped."

"What stopped?" Aang asked, his brow furrowed.

"The voices, obviously," Sokka said, rolling his eyes. "Now can we _go_?" He yelped as Katara elbowed him in the side.

"Ssh!" Toph urged again, closing her eyes to focus. They snapped open again momentarily. "There it is!" she whispered. "The song!"

As the music washed over him, Aang felt chills crawl up and down along his spine, goose bumps popping up along his arms. "Wow," he whispered breathlessly, his eyes shining.

"That's amazing!" Katara exclaimed, her eyes closed to absorb the sound of it.

"Great. Can we go _now_?" Sokka's smart remark earned him another elbow from his sister.

"Would you stop talking for _once?_"

"What? It's music. Nice, yes, but not more important than finding Aang a fire bending master, is it?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Look, if you want music so badly, we can sing as we go. Heck, if we do it well enough, maybe anyone who tries to attack us will change their mind and decide to join in instead. But unless that flautist happens to be a fire bender that _won't_ try to kill us, I don't care how good they are!"

"Well, we've got to get supplies before moving on, anyways," Aang suggested peaceably, "so we can just enjoy it while we're here."

Sokka snorted. "Just as long as it doesn't slow us down."

The group went from stall to stall, buying what they needed with what little money they had, their path leading them closer and closer to the source of the music until it finally came into view.

A young woman sat on the corner, a blot of white in a sea of green-clad people. Her skin was so pale that from a distance it was difficult to tell where her sleeves ended and her thin, delicate arms began. Strands of colorless hair dangled in front of her closed eyes as she played on a strange grey flute, her fingers dancing fluidly over the holes.

"She makes it look so easy!" Katara's eyes shone. "I wish I could play that well!"

Aang looked at her quizzically. "You play flute?"

"Obviously not," Sokka snorted, shaking their pathetically empty coin pouch, "or we'd have more money. _Look_ at that!" he gestured towards a white bag on the ground in front of her, filling with coins as people passed her.

But his sister wasn't listening. "Maybe she'll teach me," she muttered to herself before making up her mind and running towards the flautist.

"Katara!" Sokka yelled in vain before chasing after her, leaving Aang and Toph to shrug and each other and walk after them.

"Hi!" Katara said cheerfully once she reached the corner. "I'm Katara. What's your name?"

Without looking up, the woman took the instrument a mere inch away from her mouth. "If you have anything to give me, just put it in the bag," she said coldly. "Otherwise leave me be." She began to play again, nodding her head in thanks as a passer-by added to her day's profits.

"But" Katara began before a calming hand on her shoulder quieted her. Sokka shook his head and lead her away. No one said anything, but as Aang looked back and caught a glimpse of her eyes- colorless except for the slightest hint of gold- he couldn't help but feel that she looked like someone he knew.


	3. Chapter 3

Whoo, the second chapter. I pretty much got this done while I was sick today, so...I guess you guys benefit from my discomfort. Yay?

Note: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. I really wish I did, but I don't.

---------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2

Zuko gaped at his uncle, not daring to trust his own ears. "You're lying," he hissed out, hands balled into fists.

Iroh sighed. "Please, Zuko, you must understand, Fire Lord Azulan swore everyone who knew to the utmost secrecy, at your father's request."

"My mother would have told me," the exile prince seethed, his words coming out sharp with rage.

"Your mother thought she had died, and it was too painful for her to speak about."

Shouting wordlessly, Zuko shot a stream of fire upwards, sending the birds in the treetops flying away. Breathing heavily, he rounded on his elderly companion. "Fine then. Assuming you're telling the truth, why did you wait this long to tell me?"

"Because you would not have been able to do anything to help her, and it would have done nothing but distract you from your hunt for the Avatar."

"So why tell me now?" Zuko sat down heavily, pulling on handfuls of his short brown hair. "I still can't do anything for her."

"Because you have been lied to for long enough. You deserve to know."

"But why would my father do that to her?" he looked at his uncle, naïve confusion etched into his face.

"My brother does not look kindly on weakness, you know that. She could barely even stand when I last saw her."

"And when was that?"

"Three year ago, just before we left. She tried so hard to make me stay when I told her I wouldn't be coming back to see her anymore. I think my visits were the only thing keeping her sane."

"Then why did you come with me? She's been alone for three years now!"

"Your father ordered me to. I'd have brought Zana with us if I was allowed to, but he would not permit it."

"She's his _daughter_!"

"And you're his son. Have you forgotten so easily what he did to you?"

"Never. But _she_ didn't do anything."

Iroh sighed. "You need time to think. Why don't I make us some tea?"

Zuko snorted and a heavy silence fell between the two, broken only by the old man's tea preparations. Once it was ready, they drank wordlessly, both men too absorbed in thought to speak.

Zuko's head swam. Another sister? A _twin_? His uncle was known to be cryptic, yes, but he'd never outright lied to him. As he digested the information, he couldn't help but wonder: if he hadn't been exiled, would he have died without knowing about her? There was little doubt in his mind that he would.

"Uncle?" he asked tentatively, "Did you ever think of taking me with you?"

"Every single time." Iroh smiled sadly. "She begged me to bring you."

Zuko's brow furrowed in thought. "Would she still be there now?"

"I doubt anyone would have bothered to move her, and she could not have left on her own."

"Well, I'd say you're long overdue for a visit," the young man smiled wryly, "and I know how we can get there."

"Oh?" Iroh asked, pouring himself more tea. "How to you propose we do that?"

"It's quite simple, actually. We just need some help from an old acquaintance."

---------------------------------------------------

And there you have it. R&R if you're an awesome person, and...yeah. Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

So here it is, chapter three. The first real reason why this story is rated T. It's rather...gruesome. You'll see when you read it.

Also, I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3

To think how differently things would have gone if she'd just looked up. If she had known, she would have laughed. And then she would have cursed and cried. He'd been right there in front of her, held in the same thrall as all other benders by her music. If she'd kept playing, he would have given her everything he had, and she _still_ wouldn't have known. She wouldn't have let herself look at him, just like she wouldn't let herself look at any of the countless other people she tricked into 'donating' to her. The Avatar would have given her everything she needed, eventually would have helped her find her brother, if guilt's hold on her hadn't forced her head down.

As it were, Zana played until nightfall, not long after he had left, taking money from the wealthy and unfortunate alike through her music. She knew she'd have to move on soon. Never before had she stayed more than a few days at any one city, and here she was already pushing a week. People would wonder why it was they felt so compelled to pay her, and the smarter ones would figure it out. She'd be attacked and chased out, just as she had been at Omashu, back before she knew what the music could do.

Once the light of the sun was gone and none but the city's drunkards remained on the streets, Zana tucked the flute away into an inside pocket of the white robes of mourning she had received at Fire Lord Azulan's death. She smirked at the memories of that day, when all people, royalty and peasants alike, had worn them, saddened by their loss. But locked away in her room, not allowed out for even her grandfather's death, she alone had worn the red suitable for everyday life. Her face fell, however, when she recalled the day she had finally donned them, when no one else did. The day her uncle left with her brother, whose face she didn't know and name she couldn't remember.

Lost in her memories, she almost didn't notice the crowd of people that moved towards her. Most were drunk, that was easy enough to see by the way they staggered and stumbled as they approached her, and those that weren't fully inebriated were at least a little tipsy. Several shouted raucously, and the stench of alcohol on their breaths made Zana gag. They stopped in front of her and although they were not silenced, they were quieter, and vaguely expectant.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked nervously, a discomforting feeling settling in her stomach.

"Yeah," said a large man, stepping forward. "Yeah, you really can." He was obviously the spokesman, as no one else made to speak beyond wordless shouts.

Zana eyed him up and down. He was a short, rather square-shaped man with broad muscular shoulders and arms that hung down to the knees of his short legs. His angular jaw was thickly bearded with coarse brown whiskers of the same color as his hair, which was short and unkempt.

"You," he growled menacingly, "have been stealing from us."

"No!" Zana protested. "I haven't stolen anything! I just play my flute, that's all!"

"Like hell you do!" the man spat at her feet. "Then how is it that none of us remember giving money to you, you little harlot? If you're not stealing from us, why do you have all of that?" He pointed angrily at the full bag of currency in front of her.

"Please, calm yourself," her voice raised a pitch as her heart pounded faster from fear. She'd stayed too long. "You've had too much to drink, that's all. In the morning you'll remember it, I'm sure!"

"I HAVE NOT HAD TOO MUCH TO DRINK, YOU WHORE!" the man's voice escalated to a furious roar as his hand formed a fist and struck her across the face. The force of the blow sent Zana sprawling on the ground, and the flute fell out of her pocket, clattering on the ground. Her face stinging and tears in her eyes, she reached for the unnoticed instrument as the men behind her gathered up the sack of money.

After struggling to push herself back into a sitting position with her weak arms, Zana brought her reclaimed instrument to her lips and played two quiet, feeble notes before it was snatched away from her. Another, taller man with longer hair smirked at the horrified look on her face, her flute held in his strong hands.

"No!" she cried, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "Not that! Keep the money, fine, just give it back!"

Wordlessly, he knocked her on the head with a closed fist and laughed. Again on the ground, Zana struggled to keep her consciousness only to slip into darkness.

The girl out of the way, the crowd of men turned their animosity from her onto each other. They fought among themselves about who should get how much of the money, and which one of them would get the flute. Focused on their bickering as they were, not one of them noticed as Zana rose from her place on the ground in an effortless puff of air. Her colorless hair was now the deepest of blacks, and it seemed as though the whites of her eyes had been consumed by her pupils. With a single, graceful, sweep of her arm, white-hot flames circled around the men, trapping them in a frightened huddle. A flick of her wrist, and gusts of wind made the fire climb higher, magnifying its heat.

"What...what _are_ you?" the man who had first antagonized her whimpered, his eyes wide in terror.

Zana did not reply; merely twist her lips into a smirk, an unnerving sight with her blackened eyes. Then she pulled both arms upwards, and two slabs of stone slid out of the ground on either side of them. As she slammed her arms together, the pillars did the same, crushing the men between them. She didn't flinch at the sound of their screams or crushing bones. She didn't even twitch as their blood fell on and around her like rain. She only looked up at the night sky and circled her arms, watching uninterestedly as the distant clouds flowed downwards and settled on the ring of fire, extinguishing it with a loud hiss and the rising of steam.

With no change of expression, no hint of remorse for the lives so ruthlessly ended, Zana turned and walked out of the city gates, unheeded and unchecked. It was many hours before the color of her hair and eyes became normal and her mind became her own again. She discovered that she had no memories of what had happened. She didn't know where she was, how she had gotten there, or why she had so much blood on her robes. But foremost on her mind was the absence of her flute. After searching desperately for it, she slumped against a tree in the lonely forest she found herself in and cried for the loss of the only reminder of her uncle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alright, so the ending's not all that impressive, but I was tired when I wrote it. It could be worse, right?

Anways, R&R please.


	5. Chapter 5

So here it is, the fourth chapter. But first, I'd really like to thank everyone who's been reviewing and giving me advice. I'll try my best to follow it.

And also, I'm going to try to update this on a weekly basis, either on Sundays or Mondays, depending on the week. But keep in mind, the key word in that sentece is _try_. I almost didn't get it up this week thanks to the first of many marching band festivals and a soccer tournament, so I'm just going to take it a week at a time, and we'll see what happens.

Anyways, getting what you came here for, here's the chapter.

Oh, and I still don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender, despite my many attempts.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4

Sokka lay brooding on the stiff, uncomfortable cot, staring through the barren inn ceiling. If he'd had his way, they would have left the city a long time ago, and he would have been manning Appa's reins, not sharing a cramped room with the sleeping Avatar. He sighed deeply: this wasn't _right_. He heard Aang stir in the neighboring bed and turned his face to the sound.

Aang wasn't sleeping as soundly as he thought. In fact, the boy wasn't sleeping at all. He was moving, fully dressed, through the doorway, eyes and arrow tattoos glowing an all-too-familiar light blue.

"Aang!" Sokka yelped, jumping out of bed. "What are you doing?"

The Avatar did not turn or respond, just hesitate long enough for Sokka to hastily pull on his pants and grab his weapons. Padding silently on bare feet past the girls' room, he trailed cautiously behind his friend. For Aang to enter the Avatar State was never a spontaneous thing. It was a last resort kind of thing, for desperate times. It didn't just _happen_.

Tightening the grip on his sword, Sokka followed Aang out into the cold night air, shivering as his bare chest was exposed to the chill. A gust of wind blew his loose hair into his face, obscuring his vision. Cursing, he brushed it back. This was _not_ how he wanted to go into danger.

"Aang!" he whispered sharply, knowing full well that he would not get an answer. Even so, he needed to at least _try_ to find answers, because even though he'd never admit it to anyone, not even himself, he was afraid. Something in the air felt wrong, and his instincts, the persistent, wordless voices in the back of his mind and pit of his stomach, were screaming at him to run. To run as fast and as far as he could. His pride and an unspoken devotion to his friend were all that kept him from fleeing.

As he peered through the darkness, his gaze was met by a sudden white light from around a corner, flickering eerily. Aang walked towards it impassively, no sign of registering the strange light on his face. Warily, Sokka followed behind, alert to the sounds around him. The sound of screams, of men begging for their lives, made his blood run cold, the color draining from his face. A sudden, sickening cracking noise made him stop dead, a restraining hand lashing out to halt his friend. Even from the distance between them and whatever it was that was happening, blood showered down around them.

Suppressing a yelp, Sokka pulled gently on his friend's arm, leading him to the wall of the building at the corner. Peering cautiously around the other side, he saw a girl with raven black hair extinguishing a ring of fire with the clouds, no emotion showing on her face. In the center of the ring was a large pillar of stone. It was slick and red from a fresh coating of blood, and an arm, mangled and broken, protruded from the center. He swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to vomit, fighting to hold the nausea at bay. The screams, and now this. How many men had died? And who had killed them? He'd seen the girl control the clouds, so she _had_ to be a water bender. Someone else had murdered them, he was sure of it.

As she turned away from the steaming circle, Sokka caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were completely black, no color to them at all. He pulled his head back around the corner quickly, his heart racing. Had she seen him? Praying silently that she hadn't, he waited breathlessly for any sign of change from Aang. It was obvious that his entrance into the Avatar State was connected to the appearance of the girl, even a child could have figured that out. Several tense minutes passed before he felt Aang's arm move in his hand. He looked over to see that his eyes and tattoos had returned to normal, and he was looking around curiously.

"Sokka," he asked slowly, "where are we?"

"Ssh!" the older boy hissed, holding a finger to his lips.

Confused, Aang nodded slowly as Sokka motioned for him to stay put. He remained motionless as his companion cautiously poked his head around the corner.

The girl was gone, though the signs of her passage certainly weren't. The ground around the stone slab was charred and blackened, and everything was still damp with blood. Stepping out cautiously, Sokka made his way over to the other side of the pillar. On the ground beside it was a blood-soaked bag, filled with money. Next to that was a stone flute, familiar despite the gruesome coating. Sokka picked them up and looked around. This was _definitely_ the corner that the flute girl had been on. And hadn't the girl he'd seen here been wearing the same white robes as the flutist? He groaned quietly.

Why wasn't _anything_ ever what it looked like?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you liked it! Leave a review to tell me what you think, give advice, whatever. Everything's appreciated.

'Till next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

As you can tell by the lack of weekly updates, I am a horrible person and a liar. Synonymous? Perhaps.

Anywas, I finally grew a brain and realized that a weekly update would be impossible without a time machine. Unfortunately, mine broke down last week and is in the shop for repairs. So I guess from now on I'm going to update on the considerably looser 'I'll update as soon as I can, no promises, sorry, deal with it' system.

Anywas, I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. Just Zana and the story.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Worry weighed heavily on his mind, suppressing his usual cheer. Iroh cast a concerned look at his nephew's back from his place behind him on the stolen ostrich-horse.

Zuko sighed. "Uncle, I can tell when you're worried. You're body's tense."

"Oh-ho!" Iroh laughed. "You noticed that, did you? Your continued training is paying off, Prince Zuko."

"Stop _calling_ me that," the banished prince hissed, "and don't change the subject! You don't think I can find him, do you?"

"You misunderstand. I've no doubt that you'll find the Avatar. You've done it often enough before, after all." Iroh chuckled slightly before continuing grimly. "I just don't think he'll be willing to help us, considering your history."

Although his uncle couldn't see it, a small smile formed on Zuko's lips. "I don't know, but I think he will."

"Your faith in others is a refreshing change, but why _now?_ What makes you think he'll help?"

"He's helped me before. He could have left me to die at the North Pole, but he didn't."

Iroh grimaced. "One incident does not make a lasting bond. Just because he did not want your death on his conscience does not mean he'll help us now."

"What other choice do we have?"

The old man made as if to speak in protest, but thought better of it, releasing the air in a sigh. His nephew could be unpredictable. He couldn't even begin to fathom why his brother's son, usually cautious to the point of paranoia, was rushing into this headlong.

The minutes passed in relative silence, the only sound the rhythmic thumping of the ostrich-horse's feet. The creature's steady loping gait swayed its riders gently, and Iroh was soon lulled into a doze, slumping against his nephew's back. Zuko smiled gently as his uncle began to hum softly in his sleep, a tune that was vaguely familiar, as if heard in a dream years ago.

His uncle's song, soothing even when hummed by a sleeping man, and the gentle rocking conspired again him, accenting painfully the exhaustion of life as a fugitive. Zuko barely had time to pull his steed off the forest path before dismounting, careful not to disturb his uncle, and dropping to the ground asleep, with only his arm as a pillow. As desperately as he needed rest, he slept fitfully, his mind plagued by strange dreams.

He was a child again, no older than twelve. Standing in the palace garden, he could see Azula, fully grown, playing like a child with the blind earth kingdom girl and the young water tribe warrior. His mother stood a ways off watching them, her arms stretched out, her hands clasping those of two others. One hand had a blue arrow on the back of it, matching the one on his bald head. They glowed with an eerie blue light, just like his cold eyes, set above an expressionless face. A face he recognized, a face he knew, a face whose name was a mystery.

The other hand that held his mother's was spindly and frail, the arm connected to it shaking with the effort of holding it up. Her face was featureless except for two gaping black pits where he eyes should be. A name came to his lips, and he whispered it, knowing it to be hers.

"Zana"

A nameless face and a faceless name.

And then his mother was gone, the phantoms holding hand with each other instead of her. Their bodies flickered and faded away as he watched, blue lights glittering where they had stood. The boy's shone brightly with only a slight weakness around the edges, while the girl's was dim, weak, and muddied with black. The two flowed into each other, becoming one, brighter but still marred by the darkness.

Somehow, he knew that this was the Avatar Spirit, but...it should have been pure. What he saw was tainted and still incomplete, like the cycle had tried to continue, but stopped abruptly.

Without knowing why, he turned back to see his sister and her playmates. Azula was gone, and the two others were fading the way Zana and the airbender had, replaced with similar blue lights, though they were less brilliant than the others, as if something had been lost from them. They, too, joined the Avatar Spirit, and it shone brightly despite the lingering corruption. Then the blotches were streaming out of it, towards him, entering him through his heart while a small trickle of blue exited his mouth. Now he was no longer himself, but his father, and the spirit in front of him was complete, in humanoid form. It turned its eyeless gaze on him and struck him down with a wave of its arm.

Zuko woke with a start, breathing heavily, breaking out in a cold sweat. No memories of the dream remained, but he was terrified. The fear almost covered up the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

Almost.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dun dun DUN! I hope I didn't make where I'm going with this obvious, but I'm not too good with subtle. Either way, this's all you get for now.

Review if you're awesome!


	7. Chapter 7

Wow, sorry it took me so long to update. But now that I've got some time off school, I should be able to get a couple more chapters up pretty quickly.

I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. Still.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 6

Zana had never known true hunger before. Her father's servants had always provided her with food from day to day, and once she had left she always had enough money to buy her own. But now that she had neither, she longer for what she had once perceived as an empty stomach. It had only taken a day for the hunger to surprise her by turning into pain.

On that first day, Zana had wandered aimlessly, heedless of the tree branches that clung to her face and hair, tearing at her robes. By chance or by fate, she came across a clearing, empty of everything but the signs of a recently abandoned camp. A fire pit had already been dug, the ashes within having turned cold long ago. Unused wood was still piled next to it, ready to use. The scaly remains of skinned fish were piled a ways off from this, rotting and gathering insects. The green of the field was marred by the occasional ostrichhorse dropping, which she was careful to avoid as she inspected the area. Lying solitary and alone by the fire pit was a small wooden disc, a white flower painted carefully on both of its faces. Zana recognized it immediately as a white lotus pai-sho tile. She pocketed the disc, reminded sadly of her uncle. He _always_ started with that tile.

When she lay down by the fire pit, she couldn't understand how odd it was that there was no kindling to be seen, merely large logs. Had she any previous knowledge, Zana would have realized that only a firebender could start a flame without kindling and a spark stone. But she knew nothing about starting fires, and not only did the connection go unmade, but she didn't question when a fire started there in the night as she slept.

For the next two days, Zana remained in that clearing, leaving its borders only when her lethargy was overcome by restlessness or hunger. Food was sparse, most of the berries eaten by wildlife long ago. She gathered what she could; fruits and nuts that had for whatever reason remained untouched. She had no way to capture any of the small animals that called the forest home, and even if she had, she doubted she'd have the willpower or even the ability to kill them. Her unforgiving surroundings made her become hungrier by the day, until, on the third day, desperation pushed her farther and farther from the clearing until she discovered a bush whose berries were oddly undisturbed. Without thought, Zana fell upon them, staining her mouth and hands red with their juices as she ate with more fervor than any time before. That night she returned to the field sated, and slept soundlessly, unaware as the berries' poison began its work against her mind.

On the fourth day, the poison saved her life.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was an unusually slow day already; it was nearly noon and no one had come to them yet for help. A young earth kingdom healer sat in an open windowsill, one leg pulled up in front of her chest. As a gentle breeze tossed her long brown braid around playfully, her hands moved slowly up and down her shin without any cognizance. The rough, hard burn scraping against her palms startled her, and she pulled her hands away quickly. It wasn't the presence of the scar that startled her but...she never paid undue attention to it. It wasn't hurting; it wasn't doing anything unusual at all. It was exactly the way it had always been since it had healed. There was no reason at all for her to pay it any heed.

With a sigh, she slumped forward in the sill, resting her chin on her knee, losing herself to her thoughts. As the wind caressed her face, the image of another pierced through her musings. A scarred face, lean and untrusting. Its piercing yellow eyes dart back and forth as its bearer unhitches a steed that is not his.

"Oh, Lee," she sighed, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Why did you do it? We could have _helped_ you..."

"Song?" her mother's voice jolted her out of her reveries.

Face burning with embarrassment, Song spluttered out a hasty "Yes?" in response.

The old woman shook her head with a sigh. Her daughter was acting strangely, and she had been ever since their only ostrichhorse had been stolen. Song had raised the animal since it was just a coltling. Pushing the thoughts away, she focused on the reason she had come to her daughter in the first place. "Song, we're almost out of these. Could you run out and get some more?"

Song slid out of the windowsill and on to the floor with a smile. "No problem," she said as she took the small list from her mother's hand. Walking out the front door, she grabbed a small wooden basket and tucked it under her arm. She paused for a moment out on the simple porch, remembering. Remembering the shock, and almost guilt, that had shown on his every feature when she had shown him her scar. Shaking her head, she walked down the forest path she had wandered down every week for as long as she could remember. Closing her eyes, Song let her feet carry her along the route that they knew so well.

After no more than a few minutes, she arrived at her destination and opened her eyes to begin. What she saw was not at all expected, and it nearly made her drop the basket. There wasn't a single berry left on the bush. Song couldn't believe it, those berries were poisonous untreated, and the animals knew well enough not to touch them. Frantically, she checked her surroundings, suddenly unsure of the correctness of her location. But the tall, sturdy maplefir that she used as a marker was only a few yards away; this was the spot. Again, she looked down at the bush, afraid she was losing her mind, but it remained the same; robbed of its fruit.

This time, however, Song caught sight of two grooves in the soft earth beside the bush, with less distinguished foot prints leading up to and away from them. She groaned inwardly: only a human would be stupid enough to eat those berries, and these prints definitely weren't from a platypusbear. The trail was fresh, no more than a day old. Not enough time for the poison to be fatal, but just long enough to damage someone's mind. The realization dawned on her slowly, but once it did, it filled her with an icy fear. Someone, somewhere close, was dying.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

So there's that. Review if you're awesome.


	8. Chapter 8

Two chapters in one day. Does that make up for the long gaps. I hope so.

With this chapter, especially in the beginning, I tried exploring the minds of each of the characters more thoroughly than I have before. I personally think it turned out pretty well.

I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7

No one is _ever_ who they seem to be. Sokka thought he'd realize that sooner, especially considering the company he kept ever since he left home. Toph could wipe the floor with most anyone she came across, Aang was the world's best chance for peace, his own sister had saved more lives than he could count through both healing and battle. He himself was a brilliant (though sometimes erratic) tactician, and future chief of the Southern Water Tribe. Just looking at them, no one would ever believe the truth. They were just a bunch of kids, after all. But appearances were deceiving; he and his friends were living, breathing, fighting, ass-kicking proof of that.

So it really shouldn't surprise him that the flute girl just might be the most terrifying thing to set foot on this planet since Azula, should it?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just the description her brother had given her was enough to send chills running up and down her spine in a disturbing game of tag. Katara shifted uncomfortably, remembering the look on Sokka's face when he'd woken her, bloodstained bag and flute in hand. As they sat protectively in the silence, his fear was contagious, and she soon felt her heart beating so loudly she could swear it would disturb her friend's mediations. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths and calm the racing drum, positive tat Toph could feel her panic. She needed to stay calm. She hadn't even been there, what the hell did _she_ have to be afraid of?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was no excuse for her absence last night. She'd felt the vibrations as Aang and Sokka had gotten up and left, she'd even woken up. But she'd been too damned tired to go where she was needed. Toph cursed herself silently, rage burning in her core, tempered only by fear for her friends. Katara's heart pounded like Appa's footsteps, and her breathing was unsteady. As much as he tried to contain it, Sokka was trembling so violently that he created enough vibrations for her to make out the details of his appearance, down to the last quivering hair of his wolf tail. Aang, on the other hand, remained still. Perfectly, terribly, _horribly_ still. She couldn't help it; she was frightened for her friends' safety.

She was frightened for her _friends_.

She was _frightened_.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The transition into the Avatar State was easier this time. Always before there had been resistance, some force holding him back. But now...all he had to do was close his eyes and breathe, and suddenly it was like sliding upwards into a pool of warm water. Aang was standing behind his body, encircled by the meager ring of protection his three friends could provide. Normally, this transition created some sort of reaction from each of them, but now they each seemed lost in their own thoughts. He wanted to reach out to them, help them.

But they called to him first. Not in words. Not even in actions.

In a single, terrifying instant, Toph's mind became his. He felt her every hope, every doubt, every affection, every opinion, good and bad. In that moment, he was blind, seeing though the soles of his feet. In that moment, he learned more about her than he thought possible. Then the moment was over, a fleeting memory, and there was no way to know if he'd imagined it.

Aang breathed deeply, steeling his thoughts against what surely had been a trick of the mind. And then he wasn't sure whether his name was Aang or Sokka, as his mind melded with the older boy's. He felt a grief for Yue as poignant as if _he_ had loved her, felt the guilt of his feelings for Suki. He knew instantaneously why he could be so sarcastically blunt, why he was such a jerk so often. He understood that he threw up those walls to hide his insecurity, and the fear he felt that his inability to bend made him less in their eyes, or would one day cost them a fight. He saw it all in less than a second, and then it was gone, leaving him once again to wonder if he was going mad.

Aang shuddered. That had been far too real for it to be untrue. He'd really seen their minds, and he felt ashamed, as if he had violated them both. So many images and feeling that they'd kept secret, and he just _stole_ them. The guilt was overwhelming, now that he knew both of them were willing to die for him. His cheeks flushed hotly as the reason for Toph's devotion clicked into place. She hid it well; he never would have realized that her feelings for him ran deeper than friendship. The same feelings he held for Katara...

Curiosity pushed its way into Aang's discomfort He'd just seen the minds of two people; could he see the heart of a third? Was it possible that the waterbending girl reciprocated his feelings? Did he really want to know? Indecision raced around his mind until a voice from behind made the decision for him.

"I think you will find that attempt fruitless, Aang."

The young boy spun around on his heel, stiffening as he came face to face with his predecessor. "Roku! What are you doing here?"

The firebender raised one white eyebrow amusedly. "Didn't you enter the Spirit World to speak to me?"

Aang held up his hands apologetically. "That's not what I meant. I just usually have to _find_ you first."

Roku nodded. "Yes. Normally you do. But _normally_ there are not as many pieces of the Avatar Spirit together in one place."

"Yes, well I-_what?!_" Aang did a double-take as he processed the old man's words. "_Pieces_ of the Avatar Spirit?"

The spirit sighed. "Yes, Aang. Pieces. Did you really think that being frozen in ice for a century would have no effects on the cycle?"

"What are you talking about? Nothing happened while I was in there!"

"Nothing that you know of. But your heart stopped three times. You _died_ three times, and the cycle continued at each death. A fragment of the Avatar Spirit escaped your body each time before your heart began to beat again, trapping the rest inside."

For a moment, Aang could only gape. When his voice returned, he spluttered "I _died_?"

"Yes. You died. And you broke the Avatar Spirit."

"Oh man...what happened to the pieces that got away?"

"They did what would have happened if the entire spirit had died. They moved on to the Water Tribe.

"So, what? There are three sub-Avatars or something?"

Roku paused, assembling his words cautiously. "In a way. These three fragments attached themselves to the spirits of three average benders before they were born. Because of the tremendous power contained in even a sliver of the Avatar Spirit, the strain on an average person's body is...unimaginable. Those who would have been the next Avatars died shortly after birth, moving on again to meet the same fate. They survived a little longer each time as they adapted to the average person's body, but they always died young."

Aang's head sank. "All of them?"

"All of them. Until recently. Sixteen years ago, the largest of the fallen fragments split further into two, giving twins to a woman meant to have only one child. You've met them both, actually. It's no surprise that you didn't recognize them. Their incompletion has held them back considerably from their full potential."

Aang slumped down to the ground, his grief overwhelming. How many lives had been snuffed out by his actions more than one hundred years ago? So many questions jumped to his throat, he was unsure why "And the other to pieces?" jumped out of his throat.

Roku nodded grimly. "The other two you know very well, probably better than they know themselves, now." His eyes flickered over to the protective ring and back, conveying their message wordlessly.

Following the movement back to his friends, Aang yelped. "Sokka and Toph? _They're_ the other pieces? But they'd be incomplete, too, not at their full potential!"

"Toph is all but helpless against aerial assault thanks to her blindness. An attack from above could easily be fatal. She'll never be able to see the faces of her friends and family, or read and write. Do you really think that that's her full potential?"

"What does having a piece of the Avatar Spirit have to do with her blindness?"

"Her vision was sacrificed to keep her alive. She was born weak, and her parents prayed to the spirits to save her. Because of the delicate situation of her spirit, she could not be saved without being damaged. The spirits took away most of her bending, as well as her sight, while amplifying her sensitivity to the earth. This way she could maintain a large portion of her strength, which had been impossible five years before at the South Pole.

Aang's face set as he understood the implication. "Sokka."

"Yes. Sokka." Roku closed his eyes for a moment as if thinking, reopening them as he continued. "Sokka's birth was similar to Toph's in many ways, but in others, it more closely resembled Yue's. He was silent from the womb, and his parents prayed to the moon and ocean. Their prayers were answered, though there was no physical change in the infant. He merely lost all of his bending, which would have been vastly powerful. In all likelihood, he would have surpassed his sister's current skill by the time he was eight, with proper training."

Aang groaned inwardly. "And the twins? What did _they_ lose?"

Roku frowned, the creases in his face becoming clearer. "Nothing. They lost nothing."

"How is that possible? You already said that they needed to lose something to survive!"

"The Avatar Spirit was diluted with a human one when it split in two rather than just being attached to one. The strain on their bodies was lessened, and their deaths slowed. But not stopped. They will die, they haven't got much more than two years left in them, and if they are _very_ lucky, it will be painful."

"_What_? How is that if they're lucky?"

"Because if it isn't painful, it will be excruciating. The pressure on the body from holding the unaltered strength of even a diluted fragment of the Avatar Spirit is unmanageable. Their organs will shut down, their muscles and bones will disintegrate slowly over time, but their minds will remain intact as their bodies fall apart."

Had he not already been on the ground, Aang would have collapsed in horror. "Why...why won't their parents do something? It can't be too late for the spirits to save them!"

"It isn't."

"So _why_?"

For the first time, Roku's arm moved from his side as he massaged his temples between forefinger and thumb. He stayed silent.

"_Why?_" Aang's cry rose, almost coming to hysterics as salty tears of guilt and grief gathered in his eyes, threatening to spill out.

"Because in their father's eyes, they're both as dead as their mother." Roku's voice was softer, more strained than Aang had ever heard it before.

His own dropped into a quieter, more desperate confusion, though his question remained the same. "Why?"

"Because the Fire Lord does not forgive weakness in anyone. Especially not his own children."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

There you go. If I'm very, very lucky I'll have the next one up tomorrow morning. Review if you're awesome!


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry about the long wait. Again. I seem to be a master of total dorkhood. If that sentence even makes sense. Which I doubt.

This chapter feels really rushed, so I apologize for that ahead of time. There were quite a few things that I wanted to touch on, so instead of spacing them out and do each one well, I crammed them all in and buggered it up. Ah well. Hopefully you won't find where I live and kill me in my sleep.

Oh, and I still don't own Avatar. Nickelodeon just won't give it up.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 8

Zuko did not expect to be in an enclosed room when he woke up, let alone a bed. But, as his uncle greeted him with a warm smile and a cup of freshly brewed tea, he discovered that that's exactly where he was. "Uncle?" he asked groggily, sitting up as he accepted the drink.

Iroh knew his nephew well enough to know and answer the question he had really asked through that one word. "I woke up not long after you stopped us, and managed to get you back up, though let me tell you, my old bones were less than happy with that!" He chuckled, stroking his long gray beard. "Since not even all the noise I made in the process could wake you, I decided that you need some rest in a real bed for once. You've been pushing yourself too hard, and it's going to affect your health soon."

"I'm fine, Uncle," Zuko smiled reassuringly, taking a sip of tea. "Really."

The Dragon of the West opened his mouth to speak, but instead of his voice, all that could be heard was a strange mewl. Zuko stared at his uncle quizzically, eyebrow twitching, his hand frozen in midair where he had been bringing the tea to his mouth. Iroh's expression betrayed nothing but innocent confusion.

A strangled curse and a muffled variation of the first sound brought both their gazes to the sliding door, which was now slightly ajar. In two fluid, silent motions, Zuko was up and at the door, one hand resting on the hilt of his twin swords. With of wave of his hand, he signaled for Iroh to stay where he was. His feet padding on the ground so softly as to be soundless, he slid out the door just in time to see an identical one slam shut at the far end of the hall. With only a moment's hesitation to tighten his grip on his blades, he made his way over to the room in question and stopped just outside, listening wordlessly, motionlessly, in.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Shit. We are so_ _cursed. _

Sokka couldn't help vocalizing the first part of his thoughts once he saw what it was that had caught Momo's attention in that room. This was the _last_ thing they needed right now. He frantically scooped up the lemur, who chirped indignantly in response. _I just hope Aang's awake so we can get the hell out of here!_

He darted into the room so quickly that he lost his balance, falling as he slammed the door shut, sending Momo flying into Katara's arms. Glancing hopefully over at Aang as he got up, he saw exactly what he had expected and hoped against.

"Crap!" He slammed his temples into the palms of his hands. "We're screwed!"

"What's wrong?" Katara asked nervously as she soothed the stiffened lemur. "Is Appa okay?"

"Oh, don't worry, _he's_ fine. Us, though? Not so much."

"What do you mean?" Toph asked, the concern in her voice not mirrored by her face as she rose to her feet, her hands face up in front of her.  
"Nothing much, just that that guy just won't give up!" Sokka's eyes bugged out as he clutched his head in frustration.

"Who?" Toph asked smugly. "The guy right outside our door?" She smirked as she shot her arms forward, straight towards her unsuspecting victim.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuko swore violently as the girl let him know of her awareness of his presence. There was no time to act, let alone think, as the stone ripped through the wooden floorboards to send him flying against the wall. Were his head clear, he probably would have wondered how it was she knew he was there. He might have regretted the last chance to plead his passivity. But no words infiltrated the haze of pain in his mind. As he coughed, a fractured rib pierced his lung, the shock of it sending him into unconsciousness, his body instinctively avoiding the pain.

Through the fog, he imagined he could hear voices floating around him, those he had heard through the door. A strange sensation, one that could almost be called warmth, but not _truly_, diminished the pain in his chest. Eventually it lessened enough for his mind to claw its way back to alertness. The first thing he noticed was that things were considerably less comfortable in the light of consciousness. The back of his head throbbed from a wound he hadn't felt, achieved as it had slammed against the wall. His chest continued to ache through the almost-warmth. Every breath he took was like fire tearing through his lungs, and he almost went careening back into the fog of sleep at the first inhalation.

Instead, he remained awake, a small moan of pain escaping him as his eyes struggled to open. A gentle voice telling him not to move brought his gaze downward, where the waterbending girl – what was her name? – was sitting next to him, her water-encased hands resting on his chest, producing both the warmth he felt there and a faint light.

Zuko almost laughed. She had healing abilities? _Damn. Wish I'd know that earlier._ The thought produced the slightest of chuckles, which soon turned into a gasp of pain as the fire in his lungs intensified.

"Stop that!" the healer hissed, her voice somehow harsh and kind at the same time. "Toph really did a number on you, and this is going to take a while." She shot a glare at his attacker, speaking without words. He could almost hear her telling them they were going to have to talk later.

"Actually, I'm not even sure I can heal you completely by myself," she said, biting her lower lip, her eyes and voice full of a genuine concern that baffled him. A sudden irrational guilt overwhelmed him, for even considering asking for their help after everything. And now to waste their time like this?

"You've done more than enough," Zuko forced through gritted teeth. "My uncle and I can handle the rest on our own." Bracing himself for the pain, he removed her hands from his chest and forced himself to stand. He had to swallow a cry in his throat as the movement jostled the fractured rib. The frail scab that had begun to clot his head wound crumbled, and the bleeding started anew. His vision was consumed by white lights, and he had to steady himself against the wall. Despite all this, he took three wobbling steps towards the room that his uncle had obtained before a hand on each of his shoulders from behind stopped him. The fingers dug mercilessly into his flesh, and he found he did not have the strength to fight against two people.

"What? Did you _really_ think we'd let you go, just like that?" Toph's voice cruelly pointed out what he should have realized on his own. Of course not.

"Now just sit down," the water tribe peasant commanded, "and let Katara fix you up. You've got some questions to answer."

Zuko did not need to be told twice. His body screamed for rest, to stay still, to heal. Leaning against the wall that supported his arm, he slid down to the ground and let his mind fall back into the soft reprieve of unconsciousness.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aang remained in the Avatar State long after Roku had answered his questions and left. He needed time to think. To process the staggering information that had been thrust at him all too suddenly. Should he tell Sokka and Toph about the damage he'd done to them a hundred years ago? Roku had left the decision completely up to him. Even with his new insight, he couldn't confidently predict how they'd react, and the thought of driving them away was terrifying.

What he needed was an advisor. Someone detached enough to avoid making it personal, and wise enough to really make a difference. Aang longed for some way to talk things through with Gyatso; _he'd_ know exactly what to do, just like he always had. But he'd died over a hundred years ago, creating an irreparable void where he needed someone most.

Or maybe it wasn't irreparable as it seemed?

For the third time, Aang felt the thoughts of another, though this time they merely nudged at the back of his mind. His desire for a confidante pulled an image out of the alien thoughts: the face of a man, wizened and old, creased from years of wear and war. The man who had defended the Moon Spirit so viciously, at the North Pole. Uncle Iroh.

Aang's brow furrowed at the title he unconsciously applied to the old man. The name was correct, but...Uncle?

Whose thoughts _were_ these that waited submissively, pleadingly in his skull? A small push in return, and Aang saw the world through damaged, misguided eyes. He was the son of Fire Lord Ozai and Ursa. He was heir to the throne, though he was only holding on to a faint hope of that claim.

Aang pulled away quickly. There would be nothing in those thoughts but hatred and cruelty and a maddening lust for power. Nothing human like remorse or compassion or even gratitude! Just thirst for control – wait. Maybe not? Another gentle push revealed concern overtaking everything else in his mind, clouded by pain as it was. Concern for his uncle, a mere hallway away. Concern for his twin, back in the Fire Nation. Beneath the worry was turbulence, yes, but none of the violence he had anticipated. Just...guilt.

Without remembering when he had closed them, Aang opened his eyes. He couldn't stall any longer, and now that he knew Zuko was nearby, he had to prevent a confrontation. But a simple sweep of the room with his eyes revealed that his friends were not where they'd been when he'd entered the Avatar State, and voices in the hall told him where they'd gone. He yelped wordlessly and dove back into his body, plummeting out of the warmth that was the Spirit World. The moment he could move again, he launched himself onto his feet, stumbling in his haste to leave the room.

It seemed that confrontation had been unavoidable. The floorboards were ripped out of place and scattered haphazardly around a rough stone pillar. On the wall across from it, crimson blood was smeared in a vertical smudge. No more than a yard away, Zuko lay unmoving, eyes closed, chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Katara knelt next to him, water-encased hands moving across his chest. Toph stood not far away, arms folded smugly, with a smirk on her face. Sokka laid an approving hand on her shoulder.

"What did you guys _do_?" Aang clutched his head in both hands as he just barely avoided shouting.

"He was going to attack us!" Sokka said, gesturing with both arms to the weapons still sheathed at Zuko's hip. "He just won't give up!"

"He was _not_ going to attack!"

Sokka sighed. "Look. Aang. I know you like to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he's followed us farther than is healthy, or even sane. He's attacked you every single time he's seen you. He was standing, _armed_, right outside our room while you were helpless! _He was_ _going to attack us_."

Aang smiled. "Trust me on this. Things have changed, and I can prove it if you go get Iroh."

"Aang..."

"Trust me, Sokka. I know what I'm talking about."

"Fine, fine," he shrugged, "but Toph's coming with me. It's your fault if he kills us." He stormed down the hall, followed by a grinning Toph.

The prospect of seeing Iroh again after his run-in with Azula was definitely an uplifting one. She walked quickly, hurrying to open the door she felt him waiting nervously behind. With a large smile plastered on her face, she slid the door open, not bothering to let Sokka, who had fallen several paces behind, catch up.

"Iroh! Glad to see you're okay!"

The old man blinked at her, perplexed. Then a grin that matched hers spread across his face. "Toph," he said, "what a pleasant surprise!"

Sokka stared at them both accusingly. "You two _know_ each other?" he demanded.

"We've met. Helped each other over a pot of tea..." Toph smiled at her memories. "It was nice."

"Right," he said at a drawl, dragging the word out for several seconds and rolling his eyes. "I'm sure that was absolutely lovely for the both of you."

"It was. After she attacked me, of course." Iroh chuckled. "Now, to what honor do I owe this visit?"

Toph groaned. "Yeah. About that...umm..."

"She pummeled your nephew." Sokka interrupted her bluntly.

Iroh's breath caught in his throat. "_What_?"

"She pummeled. Your nephew."

Toph pushed Sokka aside as she pleaded with Iroh. "Wait! It's not like that! Sokka was panicking and Zuko was just standing there! I didn't know who it was, or what he was going to do! If I'd known, I swear I wouldn't have!"

With a speed that contradicted his age and size, Iroh was on his feet and out the door, ignoring Toph's attempt to explain herself. With that same surprising agility, he was at his nephew's side, clasping his hand. "Zuko..." his voice came out as little more than a strangled whisper.

"It's really not as bad as it looks," Aang's smiling voice came from where he leaned against the wall "Toph just roughed him up a little, nothing Katara can't handle.

The old man took a slow, shuddering breath, and his age truly _showed_. He looked to Katara, his eyes full of desperate hope, pleading silently with her to make Zuko better.

She smiled confidently. "Don't worry," she assured him. "It really _isn't_ as bad as it looks. He'll be sore for a little while, but that's it."

Iroh nodded slowly, the tension in his body releasing visibly. In the moment of awkward silence that followed, Sokka reemerged, dragging a guiltily reluctant Toph along.

The old man smiled sadly at her uncharacteristic sheepishness. "Do not feel bad, you were only protecting your friends," he said warmly. "There is no fault in that. And this will give me an excuse to make him rest, so I suppose I should be thanking you!"

Toph bowed gratefully and returned the smile, but still could not bring herself to speak.

"Great! No one hates each other," Sokka exclaimed sarcastically. "Now why are you here?" he demanded.

"Yes, you would like to know that, wouldn't you?" Iroh sighed, rubbing his temples. "I can imagine what this seems like, given our history. But I assure you, our intentions are far different this time. I did not even know that you were staying here as well!" He chuckled slightly. "Fate works in strange ways, it seems."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want?" Sokka's impatient prompt earned him a rough shove from Toph and a glare from his sister. Aang continued to watch impassively, waiting.

"We need your help. It's probably too much to ask, all things considered. But we have nowhere else to turn."

"Sure!" Toph exclaimed while Sokka blurted a hasty "No!" They glared at each other before turning to Aang. "Well?" they demanded simultaneously.

He straightened, pushing himself off the wall. "When Zuko wakes up, the three of us will talk. I'll make a decision _then_. Until then...can I talk to you alone, Iroh?"

He nodded and rose to his feet, following as Aang reentered the room and closed the door behind them.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that's that. I told you it was rushed. I'll make the next one better, I promise.

And if I can't actually make it better, I'll at least try.

Review, please?


End file.
